


The Eyes of my Enemy

by syrenpan, tess1978



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Hate to Love, M/M, Oral, Snark, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrenpan/pseuds/syrenpan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess1978/pseuds/tess1978
Summary: This is another lovely collaboration from Dumperstercon 2016. The idea was to write a from hate-to-love story with a mystery pairing. The first writer drew two names which established the pairing, and started to write the hate part before handing it over to the unsuspecting co-author to turn it into love or at least sex. It was great fun and I would do it again in a heartbeat. Let us know if you can figure out who wrote what. ;-)





	The Eyes of my Enemy

“I’m sorry, I’ll have to pass on that. Not that I don’t think it’s a good idea, but this is totally not going to work for me,” Deacon explained in what he thought was his sincere tone. It had the advantage of being completely true for a change as well ‒ a win/win for team D.

However, Agent Charmer – the name was ironic – seemed to be unimpressed. She looked more sort of unhappy really. Yeah no, this didn’t look good.

“You gonna do it, Deacon, because I’m asking you nicely,” she said, pointing a talon like finger at him, eyes narrowed to slits in warning.

The brown stuff was definitely about to hit the twirly thing.

“But, is it really necessary? Because from a strategic point of view-”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t want to be here either,” Danse growled from the doorway. He was surprisingly sneaky without his Power Armor. Deacon would have to watch out for that in the future. Provided he had a future. Which was not entirely guaranteed at this point in time.

Especially not if Danse found out about the thing everyone was keeping from him. And by everyone, Deacon meant mostly Charmer and himself. Plus Tinker Tom, and well, Desdemona, Carrington and-

“You understand what needs to be done?” Charmer asked, breaking Deacon’s train of thought, gesturing for them to follow her outside.

Both men nodded with different levels of enthusiasm.

“Then get to it, boys!” she commanded and left them standing on the dirt road of the Red Rocket just outside Sanctuary which she had made her base of operation.

“Shall we?” Deacon asked with a fake smile. Danse said nothing and marched past him due south.

“Oh yay. Fun!” Deacon muttered in a fake cheerful voice under his breath before he followed his companion down the road.

Their destination was the Boston Mayoral Shelter which was rumoured to contain classified files from the time when the Institute was founded before the Great War. They weren’t sure how solid the intel was, but there was only one way to find out.

Presumably, Danse and Deacon had been selected for the mission because they happened to have the right combination of skills. Or maybe because Charmer enjoyed to see people suffer, Deacon wasn’t too sure which one it was – not that it mattered.

They passed the time by not talking to each other which was entertaining at first but became increasingly dull after two hours, give or take a few minutes on either side.

So Deacon eventually decided to break the ice, “So Danse, how have you been?”

The former Paladin shot him a look before he fixed his gaze back on the road.

“Fine.”

Deacon scoffed. “And people call me a liar.”

Danse stopped in his track. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I may be a synth, but neither do I want nor do I need your sympathy, or understanding, or whatever the hell you Railroad terrorists think drives you to your madness.”

“Yes, I get it. You’re pissed off. I was too.”

Danse turned on his heel and got in his face, shoving him with the butt of his laser rifle. The spy stumbled backward, catching himself at the last minute, but his sunglasses slipped off his face. He heard a crunch from the vicinity of Danse’s boot and felt his heart sink.

“Fuck you and your bullshit, Deacon! I can put up with it on most days but don’t you ever dare to imply you understand what’s happened to me. Don’t you fucking dare, or I’ll snap your neck where you stand!”

“Wow, you’ve taken a turn for the dark side, soldier!” Deacon muttered, blinking against the light. This would be hilarious if it weren’t for the thing. Neck snapping was hitting a bit too close to home.

“Or maybe you just bring it out in me. One of your many talents.” Danse snarled, staring him down, before he resumed his hike toward their goal.

Deacon watched the broad back of the former Paladin retreat. Muscles flexing under the Ballistic weave enforced mechanic jumpsuit Danse preferred to wear these days.

“Ah fuck!” This was going to be even harder than he had thought. “Hey Danse!” Deacon shouted as he jogged after him.

Danse mouth was set in a grim line as they continued their journey. “It’s getting dark. We should camp at ArcJet and continue at first light,” he suggested.

“I’ve a better idea.”

“Of course you do!”

“Now, don’t get all huffy. Hear me out, it’s worth your while, I swear! There’s an ancient chapel, real quiet. Perfect and defensible, especially since Charmer collapsed the tunnel to the old Federal ration complex. What do you think? It’s not too far out of our way,” Deacon explained, ignoring his companion’s scowl. “In fact, it is the better route because we can head south on the west side which means we can bypass Fiddler’s Green.”

Danse clicked his tongue and kicked the dust on the road while he thought it over, stirring little puffs of yellow dirt which somehow managed to get stuck to Deacon’s faded jeans and leather boots. The spy wisely kept his mouth shut and ignored it. There was always laundry day.

Finally, Danse took a deep breath before he grudgingly admitted Deacon’s idea had merit. “Yeah, I know the place. Let’s do it.”

The spy beamed at him and took point since he had visited the place more often than the former Paladin who had only seen it once from afar.

Voices rang through the twilight as they approached the ruined house of worship.

“Raider scum,” Danse whispered once they had made it close enough to see the group. Four people and all pretty drunk.

“Do you...Petrowski shwear...swear to take Mi...fuck...lo as your blood-shworn hushband?” asked the creepy-looking, thin guy solemnly between hick-ups and burbs, pointing with his half-empty bottle at presumable Petrowski and Milo, and the world at large. The party roared with laughter, obviously feeling quite at home; they hadn’t even posted a sentry.

“Oh shucks, I didn’t bring a disguise for a wedding,” whispered Deacon.

It was hard to tell in the waning light but the spy thought the grim set of Danse’s mouth looked ever so slightly less like a pout and more like someone suppressing a chuckle. Hn, how about that?

“Let’s do this by the book,” Danse hissed and huffed when Deacon gave him a funny look.

“Whose book? Yours or mine?” the spy replied, raising an eye-brow, but Danse was not impressed.

“Now, Deacon!” he growled as he flipped his rifle’s safety off.

“Okay, okay, keep your shirt on.” Deacon muttered, drawing his .44.

They crashed the party old-school style with blazing guns. “Now kiss the bright!” Deacon yelled as he shot Milo in the mouth. “Eww, on second thought, maybe just a handshake.” He glanced down at the body. Milo had a fishing hook instead of a hand. “You know what? Never mind.”

“Deacon!” Danse screamed. The spy turned in time to see the creepy, thin man’s head explode like a ripe tato. Deacon had reeled back as soon as he had heard the cry, thus managing to avoid most of the blast. When he looked up, he saw Danse still aiming at him, standing over the dead bodies of the other two raiders.

“Thanks,” Deacon waved at the former Paladin. They had dispatched the whole group but Danse was still not lowering his weapon.

“Hey...” the spy began.

“Shut up! What the fuck is this?” Danse snarled, kicking one of the bodies on the ground until it rolled over.

Deacon whistled through his teeth. The corpse was wearing one of the Railroad’s signature reinforced coats. However, he had never seen her before, she had most likely looted it off a corpse when Bunker Hill had gone down. A lot of good people had died that day.

“This one is one if yours!” Danse hissed, still aiming at Deacon’s head.

“The coat is, the late lady, not so much. Hang on, you think we did this?” Deacon gestured to the other bodies. “Even if this was even remotely true, which it isn’t, why would we want to?”

“That’s what I want to know. Fancy a new disguise Deacon? Maybe finally going for a full upgrade? You like to claim you’re a synth. No-one would miss me, that’s for sure. You suggested this location out of our way, and it just happened to have your Railroad buddies waiting for us. Bit too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

Deacon held his hands up in defence. “Woah! Danse, there is healthy paranoia, and then there is whatever you have. Seriously, I have no clue who these douchebags are, and why would you even think I’d want your body of all things?”

The muscles in Danse’s jaw clenched before he answered, “I’m not blind. I see how you size me up from time to time when you think I’m not looking. Nora has been distant ever since she gave your group the data too. I know there is something you’re all not telling me. I’ve been waiting for a knife in my back for some time now. Although if this was it, it was a piss poor operation, but hey, what else is new?”

Oops. Apparently, Danse was a lot more perceptive than Deacon had given him credit for. Now what?

When Deacon remained silent, Danse nodded, “Yes. I have eyes in my head. They might have been grown in a Petri dish but they work just fine.”

“They are pretty eyes,” Deacon blurted and added hastily, “pretty good, I meant, pretty good for seeing...stuff. But hey, Danse, you got the wrong end of the stick here. There is a reason why I might have been, I dunno, checking you out, and it’s not what you think. I don’t want to be inside your body like that.”

Both men stared at each other for a solid, unblinking minute. Even Deacon who was famous for being able to roll with the punches felt a crimson blush spread from his neck upward. The bridge of Danse’s nose was bright red by the time the spy clarified, “Not like that either.”

The former Paladin let out a deep sigh. Oh my God, he had been holding his breath. This evening was definitely going to be in the top ten of most awkward situations ever. He saw only one way this would end well – he had to tell Danse the truth.

“Okay, I’ll give it to you straight under one condition.”

Danse raised an eye-brow.

“You promise not to kill me.”

“That’s a tall order.”

“Come on, throw me a bone – no, not like that. Fuck. You know what I mean.”

Danse scowled but finally lowered the muzzle of his laser rifle to the ground. “Well?”

This was it.

“The reason I was looking is not because I’m after your ass – literally or figuratively. It’s because...shit. It’s because you’re a Courser. Former. But still, you know, Courser. Grr Arg.”

Deacon’s stomach flipped when he saw Danse’s eyes go wide. Nostrils flared, mouth set in a grim line, shoulders heaving. Deacon had no time to finish the thought because Danse’s gun clattered to the ground. The former Paladin took four long strides toward him, fisted the front of his plaid shirt and pulled him so close to his face their noses were touching.

“Everyone says you’re a rotten liar, Deacon, but they’re all missing the point. You’re a fucking asshole,” the former Paladin hissed between clenched teeth.

“Don’t kill the messenger! Remember you promised?!” Deacon pleaded trying unsuccessfully to push the other man away from him, which resulted in Danse yanking him even higher. Their difference in height meant Deacon was now almost standing on tip toes.

“I don’t believe you,” Danse growled, brown eyes full of burning hatred and pain. He finally pushed the spy away with a grunt, looking like he was about to spit in Deacon’s face too, but seemed to reconsider at the last minute.

Instead, Danse started to pace up and down, raking his hand through his hair, rubbing his neck. He looked like a caged animal. Deacon had never been a fan of the man but he felt sorry for him, he really did. However, Danse had already made it clear that he wasn’t interested in sympathy or a shoulder to cry on.

So, now what?

***

Danse tried to ignore Deacon as he paced the floor. That railroad scum was always lying. He didn’t know what to believe any more. It seemed that since Nora had shown up in his life, it had been nothing but turmoil. And somehow, this… this… _synth lover_ had been there for all of it. 

Danse kicked over a pew in his anger. The ancient, dusty wood shattered easily, leaving him unsatisfied. 

“Hey, now, big guy-” Deacon started, but Danse ignored him. 

“I need some air,” he muttered, stepping outside. 

He began walking laps around the small church, muttering to himself. As he passed the window, he glanced inside. Deacon had made himself comfortable, resting in a pew with his feet on the back of the one in front of him. He was smoking a cigarette and flicking the ashes into the tray full of ruined books on the back of the pew. For some reason this struck Danse as slightly blasphemous, despite the fact that he didn’t follow the religion of this church, nor had he ever known anyone who had. 

He made another lap around the building, glancing in the window again as he passed. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. A trap door they had both somehow missed had opened up in the floor behind Deacon, and someone who was clearly a raider was emerging. With his back turned, Deacon didn’t seem to notice.

Danse shouted. Deacon turned, but it was too late. Danse began to run. The door was all the way around the other side of the building, and by the time he made it inside, Deacon was being dragged into the hole. The door slammed shut just as Danse got there. He heard a lock click home. 

Danse grabbed the handle and pulled, but the steel door was sturdy, even for him. He swore, looking around for something he could use to pry the door open, but he found nothing. He remembered the Federal Ration Complex was still open at the other end. Maybe he could find something there.

***

Danse found Deacon in a small cell about an hour later. The man was bruised but uninjured. 

“I guess they weren’t Railroad after all. They didn’t hurt you?” Danse asked as he untied Deacon.

“No, they were planning on bringing me to some raider holdout in an old amusement park west of here to be a slave. Jesus, Danse, there had to be forty of them. How did you get in here?”

“I went looking for something to blow that trap door open and found a nest of raiders. When I heard them talking, I realized they were from the same group as the ones under the church. I guess they dug their way back through. So I started picking them off. Really the only one who gave me any trouble was the one in power armour.”

“Danse. You fucking killed three dozen raiders. By yourself.”

Danse just blinked at him, suddenly realizing what the spy was implying. He scowled. 

“Let’s just double check this area. If it's secure, we might as well just stay here the night.”

*** 

An hour later, the pair had secured the underground base and collected more caps, chems, liquor, and food than they could carry. They sat in their pile of loot, ate cram heated on a hotplate, and then Deacon plopped down on an old mattress with a bottle of unidentifiable brown liquor. 

“To the raiders, may they rest in pieces,” he said, holding the bottle out to Danse.

Danse stared at him disapprovingly. Deacon raised one copper coloured eyebrow at him, then waited. 

Danse sighed, then took the bottle from Deacon. He sat next to him, careful not to touch him, and took a swig from the bottle. 

“So, Mizter Dahnse. Tell ze doctor about your childhood.” 

Danse raised an eyebrow at Deacon. He wasn’t sure if he was being mocked, or if Deacon was telling himself some kind of joke that only he understood. But he decided to take him seriously. So as they passed the bottle back and forth, Danse told Deacon what he remembered of his childhood. 

“They probably gave you the orphan backstory to keep you from looking for your parents,” Deacon said. “If every synth went looking for their mom, it would defeat the purpose of the memory wipe in the first place.”

“But why did they wipe my memory at all?”

“I don’t know, man. But it’s something you decided. I’ve seen coursers come for synths, Danse. It’s not a pretty sight. Maybe being a courser was harder on you than you realised?”

Danse pondered that for a minute.

They talked late into the night, the topic ranging from laser weaponry vs ballistics, the pros and cons of power armour, and that annoying sound Nora made while chewing. “She sounds like a molerat with a mouthful of tin cans,” Deacon commented.

Danse, quite a bit in the bag already, agreed, laughing. He looked at Deacon, suddenly noticing how his blue eyes crinkled up at the corners when he smiled. His eyebrows were orange. Danse had never really noticed before today because of the sunglasses. 

“Are you a shing.. Ghing… redhead?” he asked.

“Yeah, ‘swhy I wear a wig. Red is easy to remember.”

“I like redheads,” Danse muttered. 

“Mmm.” Deacon replied. The sound drew Danse’s eyes to Deacon’s mouth. He suddenly had the crazy thought to see what he tasted like. He leaned forward a little, but he suddenly lost balance and fell into Deacon’s lap instead. 

And just like that, the moment was gone. Danse stood up, weaving a little, and brushed himself off. He made his way to the bedroll and, after waiting a little for the room to stop spinning, he passed out.

***

It was very late in the morning when they set out again towards the Boston Mayoral Shelter, neither one of them feeling particularly energetic. They walked in silence for the first half an hour or so. Danse was feeling a little uncomfortable about how the whole night had ended. He walked behind Deacon, trying to keep an eye on their surroundings. 

He was most definitely not keeping an eye on Deacon’s backside. 

As they walked, Danse was thinking about what Deacon had said. A courser. He had fought coursers before. Some months ago, he had gone up against one with Nora at an old building in Cambridge. They were tough and ruthless. Stealthy, fast, and deadly accurate. The courser had shown no mercy towards the synth he was determined to recapture. She had been crying and terrified.

Danse tried to picture himself capturing a crying or terrified woman and dragging her back. Synth or no, the thought sickened him. He felt it at a visceral level. Maybe he could see why he might choose to forget such a past.

He was so lost in thought, he did not notice the weather changing until Deacon stopped him. “Radstorm,” he said. “We aren’t going to make it.”

“Fort Hagen is just around that corner. It has an underground parking garage where we should be able to ride this out.”

Deacon agreed and they headed in that direction.

A few minutes later they cautiously entered the parking garage under Fort Hagen. The site had been cleared out some time ago, but was unmanned, and there was no telling what may have taken up residence in the meantime.

“Well this looks pleasant,” Deacon said as they entered what was obviously someone’s living quarters, although it had clearly not been used for quite some time. Its only occupant was a skeleton, draped over a box of chems. 

Danse found an old box and began placing the bones in it. He wasn’t keen on spending a few hours with a corpse, no matter how ancient and dessicated it may be. Deacon watched him for a moment, then began singing. 

“The neck bone’s connected to the… arm bone. The arm bone’s connected to the… hip bone. The hip bone’s connected to-”

Danse put the last bone in the box and stood up. “That’s really disrespectful,” he said, then stalked out with the box. 

He placed it in a safe place, then came back in the room. 

“There are so many skeletons around, Danse. They are so common, we don’t even see them any more.”

“They were human and deserve some measure of respect.”

“We walked past a thousand corpses on the way here. We didn’t stop for any of them. And what about the raiders we killed yesterday? They were human. We just left them where they lay.”

Danse clenched his fists, trying to hold back his anger. He refused to acknowledge that he was also holding back tears. 

“What about the person standing right in front of me?” Deacon said.

Danse grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close, his fist raised. He fought with himself, torn between the urge to hit Deacon and the desire to do something else.

“Danse. You’re worth more than some old bones,” Deacon whispered. His eyes dropped to Danse’s mouth, just for an instant, then he was looking Danse in the eye again. Deacon’s customary smirk was gone, his eyes clear and bright, shining with something he couldn’t identify. 

The intensity in that blue gaze was too much for Danse, and he closed his eyes, trying to hide from it, but they shot open again when Deacon softly whispered his name.

Danse didn’t know what he felt anymore. Anger, certainly. Anger at the Institute for making him, the Brotherhood for banishing him. Anger at the Railroad for taking his memories. Shame too, for the abomination he still felt himself to be. But for some reason, when he looked at Deacon, he also felt hope. Maybe there was some place he belonged. Someone who valued him despite his nature.

Without thinking, he pulled Deacon closer, closing the gap between them, and kissed him. 

He half expected the smaller man to push him away but instead he felt hands clenching in his shirt collar, pulling him close. Deacon opened his mouth and Danse thrust his tongue past his lips, tasting cigarettes and nuka cola, and something indefinable that made Danse groan and pull him closer. 

He felt Deacon working the buttons of his shirt, then he gasped as his fingers slipped inside his shirt, pressing to his chest. 

“I can feel your heart beating, Danse,” Deacon whispered against his mouth. 

Danse shuddered, thrilling in the simple touch of Deacon’s hand against his chest. He hadn’t realized until just this moment how starved for touch he really was. 

It seemed natural somehow, as they pulled at each other’s clothing, stroking the skin they revealed. Danse couldn’t get enough. Deacon was lean, mostly barechested but he had a light trail of red hair from his navel that disappeared enticingly into his pants. Danse bent his head and licked at Deacon’s nipple, causing the other man to let out a gasp. 

Deacon’s fingers were nimble as they unbuttoned Danse’s fly, and Danse let out a groan as his hand slipped inside. His hips twitched involuntarily as the other man’s hand wrapped around his cock and his mouth brushed against Danse’s ear.

“So synth cock… does it vibrate?”

Danse let out a snort of laughter, then wrapped his arms around Deacon and pushed him towards the mattress in the corner. “There’s only one way to find out.”

They fell onto the mattress, Deacon on top, and Danse lay back as Deacon kissed his way down his body, tonguing his nipple and tracing his lips through the trail of black hair on his belly. When he reached his waistband, Danse lifted his hips so the other man could pull them off.

Danse looked down just as Deacon looked up, and blue eyes met brown as Deacon took Danse into his mouth. They watched each other as long as they could, until Danse’s eyes fluttered closed. Danse ran his hand around Deacon’s head, feeling the rough stubble of his scalp, fighting the urge to push him closer.

Danse breathed through clenched teeth as Deacon’s mouth swirled around the tip of his cock for a moment before licking up the underside of his shaft. Deacon had a surprisingly nimble tongue. Well, actually, maybe not so surprising, come to think of it. 

When Deacon’s sucked Danse’s cock so far into his mouth that he could feel himself hitting the back of his throat, he bucked his hips and moaned, “I’m… ugh. Oh my god.” 

Deacon released him with a loud, wet pop before standing up and shucking the rest of his clothing. When Deacon returned, straddling Danse’s thighs, Danse pulled him close for a kiss. He groaned as their cocks brushed together. Deacon smirked at the sound. 

“Do you like that, soldier?” 

“Oh fuck yes,” Danse replied. He wrapped his hand around both of their cocks. They were neither of them small, but Danse had big hands and it went most of the way around. Deacon’s hand slipped between them as well, his fingers tangling together with Danse’s. 

“That looks really fucking hot,” Deacon muttered. Their mouths met again as they rubbed their dicks together a little harder. Danse ran his free hand down Deacon’s spine to his ass, feeling his muscles flex as he ground against him. 

“I’m gonna come on you,” Danse warned. 

Deacon didn’t stop. Instead he leaned close to Danse’s ear and whispered, “I want you to come for me.”

His words pushed Danse over the edge and he swore loudly as he came in several thick spurts. Deacon still didn’t stop, stroking himself a few more times until he came too, his cum mixing with Danse’s on the ex-paladin’s belly.

They cleaned themselves off before it got sticky. Danse checked outside and when he came back he mentioned that the radstorm had cleared. Deacon opened his eyes innocently and said, “It’s pretty late though. Maybe we should stay the night.”

Danse laughed. He retrieved their bedrolls and arranged them on the mattress, then the two men laid back down together.

“I can’t believe I got you naked, Danse. I have to admit I’ve had a hard time keeping my eyes off you. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was under all that power armour and resentment.”

Danse grabbed Deacon by the ass and pulled him close. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of you this way too. I don’t always know where you’re coming from, but then again I’m not really sure where I’m going either.”

“I guess we make a good team.”

“Nora must have known what she was doing when she sent us out on this job.”

“Do you think she meant to do that?” Deacon asked.

Danse thought about all of Nora’s other friends. MacCready and Preston had been together for a few months, and were waiting for Mac’s son to arrive from the Capital Wasteland. Curie and Sturges were the power couple of Sanctuary. And everyone had noticed how Piper and Cait looked at each other when nobody was around. Including Nora, who sent them out together frequently.

He tipped Deacon’s face up for a kiss. “Yeah, maybe she did,” he said.


End file.
